


Wool and Pumpkin

by UndergroundValentine



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Autumn, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, Pumpkin lattes, Romance, Sweaters, date, date on Midgard, gift for bundtfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:24:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndergroundValentine/pseuds/UndergroundValentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Thor, what in the Nine Realms is this ghastly thing?”</p>
<p>“That, brother, is what Midgardians call a sweater,” the word sounds strange on Thor’s heavy tongue, and the brute God pushes it closer to Loki’s chest, “and I insist you wear it on our date.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wool and Pumpkin

**Author's Note:**

> This little ficlet is based on a want by bundtfuck on Tumblr (I have many of these wants/requests in the works from her and lokis-gspot). It's not my favorite and I wish I could've done better but it's alright. :p

“Thor, what in the Nine Realms is this ghastly thing?”  Loki’s hands clutch what appears to be some thick and fuzzy tunic, only it is nearly half a foot too short for such and the material is not nearly as breathable to be adequate.  It’s heavy and a deep, forest green that he finds himself growing only semi fond of.  Before him, Thor is all smiles and dressed in what he’d learned from Midgardian culture as a pair of _jeans_ —?  Yes, that is the correct term, and the fabric is form-fitting like leather but more matte and… obstructing.

“That, brother, is what Midgardians call a _sweater_ ,” the word sounds strange on Thor’s heavy tongue, and the brute God pushes it closer to Loki’s chest, “and I insist you wear it on our date.”

Loki eyes the _sweater_ with a newfound resignation on his face, but he clutches it tighter anyway, knowing within his heart that—almost—anything Thor wants he is willing to oblige to.  And so with a heavy sigh, Loki retreats into the corner of the bed chamber—he refuses to call it a bed _room_ even if that is the technical term; he is still becoming accustomed to the culture of the Midgardian world—and into a separate room where a massive wardrobe waits with an array of styles.

At his disposal are dozens of different trousers and tunics—Thor’s breathy voice reminds him that in this realm they’re called pants and shirts, but it all sounds so wrong; to think he once intended to conquer this tumultuous world—and Loki keeps the sweater tucked against his side as he roams the length of the wardrobe, searching for something remotely decent enough to couple with the fur’s color.

Wrinkling his nose, Loki touches a pair of trousers similar to the ones Thor is wearing in the other room.  The material is heavy and almost abrasive, but he knows Thor wants him to try and see the beauty of Midgard and its offerings, so he tugs them out a little farther.  Low on the waist, and narrow towards the ankles.  Very narrow, indeed, akin to the fit of some of his leggings back on Asgard.  He wrenches them free and tucks them over the sweater on his arm.

The room is loaded with fabrics and colors that seem to cross the spectrum from possibility to practicality and everything in between that may or may not have a place.  He stops at a long line of loose, long sleeved _shirts_ before drawing one out that is a rich, warm chocolate color.  It couples nicely with the black and green, and it will be beneath the sweater anyway, so he’s not too concerned by its bland appearance.  Sighing softly, he retreats back into the room Thor is in.

“I am still uncertain as to why we came here,” Loki mentions, resting the clothes onto the bed before removing the long, soft robe he stole from Thor after their shower this morning, “it is not like we have business here.”

“Nay, but Midgard has a charming beauty this time of year, and I thought you would appreciate it.”  Thor’s response is valid, but it does not convince Loki.  Grudgingly he sets the robe aside before taking up the trousers once more.  He opens them, sliding one lean and pale leg into the fabric, grimacing at once.

“How do you find this comfortable?”  Thor chuckles and walks over to him, bare chest pressing to Loki’s back as warm lips and beard tickle his jaw, and Thor’s large hands cover Loki’s on the waistband.

“Dress fully and you’ll understand.”  Thor whispers, guiding Loki’s hands as the trickster slides his other leg into the fabric.  With Thor’s help and teasing lips, Loki moans softly as the trousers are pulled up into place, resting just beneath the sharp curve of his hips.  Then, Thor’s rough fingers abandon Loki’s palms to fasten the buttons.

Admittedly, Loki does find them tolerable, and when he moves the inseams rub just right in the ways that make him gasp and wiggle a little.  Though the sensation is not unwanted, it is unfamiliar, and he takes a moment to adjust before he no longer feels caught between pleasure and discomfort. 

Taking up the shirt, Loki pulls it on over his head, sliding his arms into the material before smoothing it over his stomach and chest.  It clings and it’s thin; alone, it would do nothing for him against a breeze.  But then he looks down at that _ghastly_ —and, at this point, he truly means quite endearing—sweater that Thor wants him to wear and he sighs again.  So he takes it into his hands and pulls it over his head, smoothing it down before turning to Thor.

“What do you think?”  Loki asks, holding his arms out a little.  The softness that emerges from Thor’s entire being seems to go straight to Loki’s knees, and he wobbles under the love-crushing weight of Thor’s gaze.  Before he can fathom falling over, Thor’s arms are around him and there are lips covering his mouth.

“You look beautiful,” Thor says with a soft moan, and Loki shivers deeply despite the heavy sweater.

“You lie…”  Loki says, though he doesn’t believe it for a moment.

“When will you learn that I never lie to you?”

~.~

Several hours later and a heavy, warm and deep grey scarf wrapped around his throat, Loki is walking arm and arm with Thor, gingerly cradling a thick paper cup of something called a pumpkin latte between his palms.  Beneath his boots—he _refused_ to leave Asgard without them—orange and yellow leaves crunch and break into tiny pieces, and Loki smiles behind the grey cover over his nose.  There is a small plastic bag looped over his wrist; a present for Thor that Loki has yet to present to his brother.

Beside him, Thor is holding his own cup of coffee, his long blond hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.  Loki prefers it down, or partially up with a braid; any chance to see those locks be tousled by wind and fingers is beyond perfect for him.  But, alas, Thor insisted on having it pulled back before they’d left, and now as Loki looks upon him, his content smile and blush hidden behind his scarf, he doesn’t mind it so much.

They walk down a long, wide paved path through a thick of trees and grass, a river flowing nearby.  It’s a park of sorts, though not much for play at this time of year.  Couples are walking and there are a few individuals jogging to and fro, but Loki pays them no mind.  There is warmth in his hands and at his side and he honestly cannot fathom a more right and wondrous place to be.

Resting his head against Thor’s shoulder, Loki tugs the scarf down from his nose before taking a drink of his pumpkin latte, humming softly as it washes over his tongue.  The taste is not quite one he is fully akin to, though it does have qualities of familiarity.  He and Thor come up to a small side path, following it closely before sitting together on a bench facing the river.  In the distance the sun is setting behind the city scape and Loki sits close enough for his entire side to be pressed to Thor’s.  His ribs down to his knee are in line with Thor’s massive side, and he hooks his ankle behind Thor’s a little.

“Did you have a good afternoon?”  Thor asks, and Loki drinks his latte again, nodding once.

“Aye, I did,” Loki admits, smiling a little.  The bag rests between his knees and Loki smiles up at the golden haired brute, “the pumpkin pastries were quite delicious, too.”  Thor chuckles.

“Aye.  I believe they’re called muffins, if I recall correctly.”  Loki nods, drinking his latte again.

The air is cool around them, and Loki tucks his hair behind his ear, burying his chin and lower lip into the curve of his scarf for a moment.  The sweater is comfortable, to say the least, though the initial image of it had been a terror four hours ago.  He and Thor are silent for a moment, though it is not too much stress.  Sometimes Loki enjoys the quiet, merely immersing himself in Thor’s presence instead of focusing on words or context of thought.

Sometimes it was enough to just exist beside his brother.  His friend.  His love.

“What are you thinking about?”  Thor asks.

“Nothing, really,” Loki says, finishing his latte, “just of today.  Of you.”  He looks up at Thor and smiles, kissing the brute’s sleeve.

“Of me?  What of me?  I am here.”

“Aye,” Loki reaches over and tosses his empty cup into the garbage can beside the bench.  “Am I not allowed to think of you in your presence?”  Thor laughs.

“That is not how I meant it.  You do not need to be private, is all.” 

“Perhaps.  I thought you like my mystery.”

“Oh, I do,” Thor murmurs enthusiastically, leaning over and kissing Loki’s jaw sweetly, and the trickster moans quietly, smiling a little, “more than I should, certainly.  But the secrets should end.  What is in your bag?”  Loki turns his head some and kisses Thor gently, whispering into his mouth.

“If I tell you I might have to kill you,” he teases, completely, and Thor snarls softly, nipping Loki’s bottom lip.

“I’d like you to try, brother.”  Loki moans, sliding his hand from the plastic loop before pushing the bag onto Thor’s broad lap.  The golden god turns his head again though stays close to Loki, looking into the white plastic before pausing.  “Are those.. for me?”  He reaches in and pulls out two deep red matching wool knit mittens.  There is a small touch of gold embroidery on the backs of the hands that look like a small sigil, and Thor’s eyes are so entranced with the colors and the softness that Loki allows himself a smitten smile before Thor can notice.

“These are… these are beautiful, Loki, thank you.”

“You are quite welcome.  Do try them on.  I’m sure they’ll fit but, as you are aware, I couldn’t have you try them on without ruining the surprise.”  Thor does so, pushing his coat sleeves up enough to slip one large hand into a mitt, wiggling his fingers and ensuring the fit.

“They’re perfect.”

“I’m glad.”  Thor smiles brightly, kissing Loki softly.  The trickster moans and reaches up gently, cupping the side of Thor’s face for a moment, holding the golden god there.  Beneath his sweater he feels warm, and he pulls away, tucking his lips behind his scarf to hide as his tongue traces over them.  When he straightens, he hides his satisfaction.

“Shall we move on, then?”  Thor watches him closely and smiles, that mouth molding into a smile that makes Loki stutter before he nods once.

“Aye.”  Thor stands, slipping the other mitt onto his palm before helping Loki up.  Though he hides the blush and grin behind his scarf again, Loki loops his arm with Thor’s as before, and they walk back up to the main road, away from the river.


End file.
